


My friend, My foe

by JosefinTonks



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Hospitals, Illnesses, Major Illness, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Not Happy, Not a very nice fic but I can kind of promise a relatively happy ending, One-Sided Enjolras/Grantaire, Poisoning, Tags will be added with the next chapter to prevent spoilers, Unhealthy Relationships, Whump!Enjolras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-08 14:37:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7761775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosefinTonks/pseuds/JosefinTonks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire just shrugged, his eyes fixed on his glass. "Combeferre loves and cares for everyone. He would never intentionally hurt someone, or something. But-", Grantaire said with a sigh. "But if he is sick himself, he probably believes he's doing something good. Let's hope he's not ill, for Enjolras sake as well as his own."</p><p>----<br/>When Enjolras falls ill, Combeferre takes it upon himself to nurse him back to health. But something isn't right and the friendship of the Triumvirate is threatened by a secret coming to light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Chief

It started with a fever. An almost suffocating feeling of heat that spread throughout his body. Worse than the warm, humid summers he had spent at the coast as a kid. Then came the drowsiness, the tiredness, yes, everything that was common for the average sickness. Every wake hour was spent in something like a stupor, awake enough to be aware of that around him, dazed enough to not being able to fully comprehend anything.   

The migraine came later. He had always been familiar with headaches. The morning after the nights intense studying or planning, or late meetings always left him with a small ache in his head. The days where he couldn't afford to buy coffee and suffered through caffeine withdrawal, and the days where he forgot to eat because of his busy schedule, those days also created pain in his head. As stated, he was familiar with headaches. Migraines however, he learnt was a completely different matter. He became painfully aware of this when he got up to fast from his bed and was hit with such intense pain, such nausea that he spent the next minutes with his head over the toilet violently puking up everything he had eaten that day.  

 

The first few days he still went to the meetings, but the throbbing of his head, the dizziness and the constant anxiety that something was seriously wrong haunted him. It was not like him to be exhausted just by walking up the stairs, or to be out of breath after just uttering a few words. It got even worse by Combeferre's concerned glances and questions. ' _Are_ _you_ _well_ _Enjolras_ _?_ _You_ _look_ _pale_ _Enjolras_ _,_ _You_ _are_ _sweating,_ _you_ _look sick,_ _are_ _you_ _sure_ _you_ _are_ _ok?'_ The questions annoyed him greatly but he knew that his friend meant well. He didn't want his friends to worry about him, so he kept quiet about the illness and tried to convice his friends that he was fine.    
 

Combeferre was not convinced though, and how could he be? He and Enjolras had known each other since they both were kids, they lived together, spent most of their time together. Enjolras could lie with ease, but never to Combeferre. He knew something was wrong with Enjolras, but he didn't say it out loud, didn't want to nag or come of as pushy, Enjolras assumed. It was the small gestures, the change of habits that betrayed him and how concerned he truly was. He made Enjolras tea before bedtime, a herbal blend ("Too much caffeine before bedtime is bad for your health"), and Enjolras woke of every morning to a cup of freshly brewed coffee. And when Enjolras condition worsened, Combeferre took on to himself to become Enjolras house-keeper, from stuffing him full with over-the-counter pills and making home-made soup for him too eat when his nausea was at its worst, to wiping away the sweat from his forehead the days when he was bedridden and plagued by vertigo.  

"I don't know what I would do without you, mon Ami", Enjolras would sometime whisper, and Combeferre would then kiss his cheeks, or his hands, and advice him not to speak and strain himself, always with a small smile on his lips, perhaps touched by the friendly words Enjolras only felt comfortable spilling in delirium.  

But his bedridden days soon began to outnumber the days when he was strong enough to leave the house. Meeting were cancelled, duties were postponed or abandoned and his friends visited him more often, increasingly worried and with permanent frowns on their faces.  

"Shouldn't he visit a doctor?", Enjolras one day heard Feuilly whisper to Courfeyrac. 

"I am a doctor, and you know that Enjolras hates hospitals", Combeferre answered in Courfeyrac's place.  

"A _real_  doctor," Feuilly muttered, which earned him a nudge in the side from Courfeyrac. A knowing glance was shared between them before Courfeyrac spoke again, his voice soft and his eyes now focused on Combeferre. 

"You've done a good job Combeferre, but Enjolras isn't getting any better. He needs to go to a hospital", this was met with murmurs of agreement from Feuilly and Grantaire, who for the first time had been allowed to come and visit. "You are a good friend and we all know that you care about dear Enjolras, but we can't let his aversion of hospitals be the death of him." 

"He will not die. I've known him longer than you, he has been sick before", Combeferre replied with a bit more force than necessary.    
   
_Never_ _this_ _sick,_ Enjolras wanted to whisper, but no words cold leave his lips. _Never like_ _this_ _._  

Combeferre's words seemed to have killed their friends' last objection, except from a last snideful remark from Grantaire. "Yeah, Enjolras would never let himself be killed by a mere illness. He wants to be a martyr, not statistic." There was an unfamiliar sharpness in his words. To Enjolras, it sounded like an accusation.  

-   
Then, the day came when he no longer could eat without aid, and only a few mouthfuls each meal. Food disgusted him. Combeferre even had to force him to drink some water. 

Days pasted, merged with each other. His friends did not visit anymore. Enjolras could no longer remember if it was a day or a month ago he last saw someone other than Combeferre.  

He felt abandoned, isolated, lonely but most of all trapped. Trapped inside of his own body, to weak to protest, to weak to argue, to weak to do anything at all. Like a baby he was depended on Combeferre taking care of him. "Thank you, 'Ferre", was the only thing he could muster up to say the days he felt somewhat strong. "Thank you for taking care of me." 

\-- 

One day (Night? Morning?) he awoke to the feeling that something was not right. He was floating. Was someone carrying him? The room was filled with voices that cut into his ears like knives. They were too loud, too many.    
   
"'Ferre?" 

"Sssh, my friend, go back too sleep", a familiar voice whispered. He could not remember to whom it belonged. It calmed him, and he went back to sleep.   

\--- 

When he once again woke up he was blinded by the strong lights who only could belong to a hospital room, and the beeping machines around him confirmed his suspicions. He had to blink a few times to get adjusted. His eyes hurt but he felt better, the fog from his mind had cleared somewhat. He felt weak though, and soreness of his throat made him feel as if someone had tried to strangle him.  

He let his eyes scan the room, landing on Courfeyrac sleeping in the chair next to his bed. He looked older with the dark shadows under his eyes and the crease that had etched itself in-between the eyebrows of the young man.   

Enjolras suddenly became aware of that he didn't know that day it was, or what month. How long he had been on the hospital was a unknown to him. It was an unpleasant feeling; not knowing. How long had he been sick? What was he sick with? Why was he in the hospital, where was Combeferre? Who had taken him to the hospital, what did they inject him with in all those tubes and why did he feel better but so sick at th-? 

"Enjolras, my dear, please calm down", a voice said.  

He had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed how high the machine right next to him was beeping (counting heart-rate?) and that Courfeyrac had woken up thanks to all that noise. He opened his mouth to speak, but Courfeyrac stopped him. "Don't say a word, your throat will take hurt. The doctor is on her way. She will explain everything to you. Do you think you will be able to handle all the information today?" 

Was he able? He was still dizzy, still confused but he didn't like being kept in the dark, least of all when it came to matters concerning his person. He nodded, and Courfeyrac gave him a gentle smile, no real happiness in it, just relief and shadows of worry.  

"Mon ami, I must warn you, it is not a pleasant story to hear, but you deserve to know." 

A lump in his throat was beginning to form, and he grabbed his friend's hand by instinct, as if it was a lifeline. It was an unspoken request. ' _Stay with me._ ' And Courfeyrac understood, he grasped Enjolras hand just as tightly.  

"I will never leave your side. Never again."


	2. The centre, part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope this chapter lives up to the explikations and that y'all like it. This turned out to be a bigger project than excepted. Enjolras will get some answers in the next chapter.

It started with a suspicion, at least for him. In reality, it must have started way before that night in the Musain when Joly pulled him aside to talk. "Courfeyrac, may I have a word with you?", Joly's voice shaking as he said it, low and serious, looking around to make sure that no one would overhear.    
   
To see his Joly so nervous, his usual happy smile erased from his face made Courfeyrac cautious.  

"Combeferre and I, um, we... How do I put this?"   
   
"Please don't tell me you are asking my permission to elope."   
   
"No! No, of course not!", horrified by the suggestion, which Courfeyrac hardly could understand because Combeferre was a handsome and nice fellow. "No, when we were in med-school together we read about this case with a woman who was, well, she was fixated with helping people. Um, nursing them?"   
   
"So?", Courfeyrac could feel something change inside of him. A knot in his stomach was growing. 

"Well, in summary she made her children sick. On purpose, just so she could take care of them and nurse them back to health."   
   
"What the fuck are you implying Joly?", Courfeyrac hissed because suddenly he understood, and just the concept of what Joly was trying to say made him clench his fists, the familiar heat of anger rising in his head.  

Joly shrunk back, he was not used to the other man's anger being directed at him. "I am just suggesting"- Joly began but his voice cracked before he could finish.. He took a deep breath and tried again. "I am just suggesting that Combeferre may hide something about Enjolras condition. That he-, well, that he perhaps -just perhaps!-, may have a hand in it?"   
   
"Combeferre would _never, never_ hurt one of his friends", Courfeyrac now almost growled, his voice dangerously low. Because what Joly was suggesting was an horrible accusation, and could never be true, could it? But the knots in his stomach was growing, a wave of uneasiness hitting him with force. Enjolras had been sick for over a month, and Combeferre had been at his side from day one. But they were roommates, and best friends. And something more? They were certainly closer to each other these days than they were to him, Courfeyrac bitterly thought, but tried to shrug that feeling off. Combeferre was a good man, a caring person who already given up so much for Enjolras' health, dropping his studies just so that he could take care of his friend. No one else would do that, no one would ever sacrifice that much for a friend.  

Joly would not leave the subject alone. "Munchhausen by proxy is a mental illness, my friend. Combeferre may not purposefully intend to harm Enjolras." 

"I know that you are a fucking hypochondriac Joly but don't you dare drag Combeferre in to it. It's you who's mentally ill, not him."   
   
Courfeyrac regretted those words as soon as they left his lips. Joly's face fell, his cheeks turned scarlet, if it was from shame or anger Courfeyrac couldn't tell.   
   
"Low blow, Courfeyrac", Joly whispered, before turning around and leaving, not giving Courfeyrac the opportunity to ask for forgiveness.    
"Eyy, Jolllly my boy, where are you going?" Grantaire, who apparently had been observing them, called after him, but the man had already left the café. "Joooooly!"  

"Shut up, drunk.", Courfeyrac muttered but took a seat next to the man.    
   
"You wound me, burn me with your words! Am I still the pariah, even after our dear Leader is gone? Alas, once a drunk, always a drunk!"  

"Grantaire, stop talking as if you were 200 years old, it doesn't suit you."  

Grantaire let out bark. _'God, even his laughter resembles a dog's'_ , Courfeyrac thought bitterly. He suddenly felt bad. His behavior towards Joly, his mean thought's about his friends, it was not like him. And Grantaire couldn't help that his face was... unfortunate to look at, to put it mildly. He let out a sigh. "Sorry, I am in a bad mood. This whole thing with Enjolras worries me." 

"No worries. These weeks have been hard on us all. I miss his nagging, hell, I even miss those days he ignored me completely", Grantaire said. It bothered Courfeyrac that the man was so serious, he was the clown of the gang, a jester who only spoke softly when praising Enjolras, never else.  

"You talk about him as if he was dead, or dying", Courfeyrac took a large clunk out of a beer can someone had left on the table. Lukewarm. Yuck. "He will get better soon. 'Ferre is taking care of him." 

Grantaire sat in silence next to him for a while, as in deep thoughts. 

"I heard you and Joly talking about Mr.Moth", he finally said. 

"Mr.Moth? You're bad at nicknames." Grantaire paid no mind to Courfeyrac's insult.    
   
"I think Joly may have a point." 

"You don't know Combeferre as I do." 

"No, you are right", Grantaire mumbled, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "No, I am just an outsider, aren't I? I don't know any of you that well, I am more of a mascot than a friend but I am not blind. I know when something is wrong."   
   
"If you are going to sit here and trash talk Combeferre, you can do it alone. I will not listen to your rambling", Courfeyrac snapped, and made an attempt to stand up, but Grantaire's hand had suddenly closed around his wrist.  

"Do you remember Lenin?", Grantaire asked. 

"The communist or the cat?" 

"The cat. You remember him?"   
   
"Of course I do. I liked him", Courfeyrac said. He sat down again. "Where is this going?"   
   
"I left him at Combeferre's house when I was out of town for two weeks. When I came home, Lenin was sick. I took him to the vet, but they could not save him." 

"Are you accusing him of killing your cat now?! Combeferre was upset for _weeks_ after that, R!" 

"I know", came Grantaire's reply. "But do you know what the vet said? That Lenin had eaten something toxic, he guessed lilies or onions, but Lenin had eaten enough of it to become deadly sick. And you know what? He had been sick for a while, probably a whole week before I came home. Combeferre should have recognized that something was wrong with him, and should have taken him in sooner. Unless-" 

"Unless what?" Courfeyrac cut him off. "Unless what, Grantaire?"   
   
Grantaire just shrugged, his eyes fixed on his glass. "Combeferre loves and cares for everyone. He would never intentionally hurt someone, or something. But-", Grantaire said with a sigh. "But if he is sick himself, he probably believes he's doing something good. Let's hope he's not ill, for Enjolras sake as well as his own. After all... the risk of dying at the hands of a Munchhausen sufferer is high."   
   
"How do you know that?" 

"There is a lot of things you don't know about me, Courf. Don't say I didn't warn you.", and with that, Grantaire left. 

\--- 

Courfeyrac couldn't sleep that night. The mere thought of Combeferre being capable of hurting anyone was absurd and the accusation itself was ridiculous. 'Joly and Grantaire don't know him', he thought for himself. ' _Not like I do._ ' Joly was a hypochondriac, which most med students were, saw disease everywhere he went, And Grantaire? Perhaps, he was just jealous that Combeferre had what he never could have; Enjolras' affection. 

He could so easily rationalize it in his head, although the word 'But' hung in the air. _But_ why didn't Combeferre take Lenin to the vet, as Grantaire said?  

He remembered all of sudden that one evening when he, Enjolras and Combeferre made dinner together, a stew. He remember getting an allergic reaction to an ingredient. While Enjolras panicked, 'Ferre had been quick with the epi-pen, saving his life. Combeferre was the one who picked out the ingredients. Careful Combeferre who always made sure that no allergens would endanger his friends, how could he have missed that the red curry paste he had bought contained prawns?  

_'An honest mistake'_ But the more he thought about it, the more implausible did it seem. It had been incidents similar to that one before, as the time when Combeferre accidentally gave Enjolras pain reliefs that didn't mix well with his sleeping pills, making him nauseous and incapable leaving their home for two days. Or the time when he walked straight into Enjolras, making him trip and sprain his ankle. 

Come to think about it, Courfeyrac realized that there were many incidents were Combeferre had been sloppy or accidentally hurt someone, most often their beloved leader. And every time, every single time, Combeferre played doctor in an attempt to help the person back to health. 

God, he was a horrible person for even considering it. Ashamed and guilty, he tried to push those thoughts away. He loved Combeferre, he was the kindest and most caring person he'd ever known. Combeferre was the one who had helped him every time he had hit rock bottom. When his parents threw him out after coming out as bisexual Combeferre had been the first to take him in, he let him stay for free as long as he would like. When his car broke down, Combeferre gave away his own car as it was nothing, because he preferred to ride a bike anyways. The kindest friend he ever had, and now his other friends demonized him, questioned his motives. They didn't deserve such a good man. 

_And all the accidents?_  

_'Coincidence, you see what you are primed to see',_ He said to himself. ' _It is like when you learn a new word, and suddenly you see it everywhere.'_  

No matter what he tried to tell himself, he knew deep inside that something was wrong. 

\--- 

It took another cancelled meeting for him to finally come to terms that Enjolras would not get better, at least not in Combeferre's care. He broke down in the Musain, sobbing until snot was running from his nose, earning an awkward pat on his back from Joly, who was careful not to come too close, afraid of any fluids he might come in contact with.  

"We need to talk to him, Courf," Joly whispered once he had calmed down. "This can't go on." 

\--- 

It took all his willpower to not break down again when visiting his friend. For the first time, Grantaire accompanied him and Feuilly to Enjolras. ("Promise you'll behave", Feuilly begged, Grantaire just smirked, but the sly smile was erased as soon as they arrived at Combeferre and Enjolras' shared apartment and he finally got to see his friend with his own eyes.) 

Enjolras' skin was paler than ever, a sickly yellow undertone made his face look as if it was made of wax. He was drenched in sweat, and the stench of vomit and chlorine seemed to be permanently imprinted in the walls and floor. Enjolras only had his eyes open for small seconds at a time, the skin around them dark in color resembling a bruise. He looked frail, thinner than before. It was clear as a day that he had lost weight, even underneath the swollenness of his face. Despite all this, he managed to look breath-taking. How typical of Enjolras, even when seriously ill he was beautiful than most. Courfeyrac always envied Enjolras' looks. He wanted to caress his face, braid the man's hair, enjoy the small gestures of love they used to share. The first time he visited, he made an attempt to kiss Enjolras' cheek as greeting, but Combeferre stopped him. _'No touching, you don't want to get him even sicker.'_ At the time, he was grateful for the warning, and grateful that he had such a knowledgeable friend as Combeferre. Now he didn't know what to believe, what to say or what to think. He wanted nothing more than to fling himself into Combeferre's arms, for them to form a cuddle pile in Enjolras' bed, hug away all the bacteria, and just the three of them like it always should be. To be honest, he felt left out. He knew it was irrational, but Enjolras and Combeferre spent every hour together. It was scary how committed he was. 

_Why is he so committed? Why does he sacrifice his studies when_ _Enjolras_ _easily could have been taken care of by someone else?_ As he said to himself many times before, something was not right. 

 It was Feuilly who raised the subject of bringing Enjolras to a hospital first, but Combeferre shot him down quickly as only the thought of it offended him.    
   
_Why do you object, my dear? Why does the thought of a doctor provoke you so?_ , he wanted to say, but he couldn't, because in those words Combeferre would feel accused, and perhaps arguing with him would do more harm than good. 

They left the building soon after their chat, Feuilly texting Joly as soon as the door closed behind them. _'Emergency meeting at_ _Grantaire's_ _. Now.'_   An unspoken agreement was made among the three men who walked in silence down the block. That they needed to act, and as soon as possible.   

- 

They whisked Enjolras' away a day when they knew Combeferre was on an errand. The spare key Courfeyrac had gotten a while ago had never been so handy. Joly was left behind in the apartment so that someone could be there for Combeferre and guiding him through the panic attack he surely would have over Enjolras' absence. They rushed to the hospital, probably breaking at least five traffic rules on their way. As soon as they got to the ER, Enjolras began convulsing. Courfeyrac felt as if he was underwater, everything felt distant. He could hardly comprehend anything, one moment he was holding Enjolras' hand, the other he was in a waiting room outside the surgery room.  

\--

 

 

Hemolysis, acute kidney injury, malnutrition, gastritis, ulcers both in the stomach and throat, and damage to the nervous system, among other things. Risk of cancer, risk of sterility, risk of epileptic attacks, strokes and meningitis in the future.  

All results of long-term poisoning. The police had been called in as soon as the staff began to suspect it. Courfeyrac told them everything, from the early signs to his suspicions, to Combeferre's weird behavior, trying to ignore the bitter taste of betrayal in his mouth.  

"It is to early to say how this will affect him in the future, but for now he is stable", the doctor had said to him. "He responded well to activated charcoal, we have taken some tests to find out what poison he have been ingesting. In the future he will need a kidney transplant." 

There was a future, and for that Courfeyrac could be glad. No matter how dark it felt, no matter how sick Enjolras had been and still was, there was a future. He couldn’t ask for more. When he finally was allowed to see his friend Enjolras was asleep. 

His phone had been vibrating constantly during the hours of their stay. He picked it up. It read "58 missed calls, 39 text messages". He didn't need to look who it was, he already knew. He shut off his phone, closed his eyes and finally, he could breath.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Why do I enjoy hurting Enjolras?
> 
> Also, based on a true story and all that jazz. Not a native speaker so please be gentle with my small soul.


End file.
